By a rushing stream a soldier knelt.

Cannot begin to imagine the end of
delight in you and the strangeness of touch
tasting enough or divining some final
truth of you or beginning to wish your eyes
your lips, your lips your eyes, desire
in movement away my dear appearing nearer
to thee when my mind declines my
blood descends a kiss not this nor here but
where there is no end of you some
river runs some planet dips a swoop of fish
a clasp of song a longing belonging
to you becoming yours by some squeezing
force an opening call unheard before
imagine no end to beginning again waking
you with a kiss just this not here nor
there but whisper this in your ear my dear
i love you,

footsteps leading away...

“The struggle of literature is in fact a struggle to escape from the confines of language; it stretches out from the utmost limits of what can be said; what stirs literature is the call and attraction of what is not in the dictionary.”
Italo Calvino.

Thanks for visiting. Have a fantabulous day full of tiny miracles like unexpected flowers blooming,